


Night-Time Adventures

by mtac_archivist



Category: NCIS
Genre: First Time, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Not Episode Related, Not a Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-13
Updated: 2008-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtac_archivist/pseuds/mtac_archivist
Summary: A storm takes the power out in Ducky's home. Concerned for his mother's health and well being he calls Gibbs and asks if they could spent the night at his home. Gibbs is more than happy to help is old friend out, and with only on spare room he insists that Ducky shares his bed.





	Night-Time Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Jessi, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [ MTAC](https://fanlore.org/wiki/MTAC), an archive of NCIS fanfiction which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after August 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator (and this work is still attached to the archivist account), please contact me using the e-mail address on [ the MTAC collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/mtac/profile)

The sound of the phone ringing awakened Jethro instantly. As always happened, a kind of shiver raced through him. With one hand he switched the bedside lamp on, with the other he grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. 

Still not fully awake, but nonetheless fully functioning, he glanced at the caller display. What he saw made the shiver grow more intent. "Duck?" he asked, putting several questions into the single word. "Are you all right," he added. The fact that Ducky was calling from his own cell phone intensified his concern.

Outside he could hear the sound of thunder crashing and a flash of lightning suddenly lit up the room. The storm, that had been brewing when he'd gone to bed about half-an-hour ago, seemed to be fully engaged now.

"I am fine, thank you, Jethro. I am so sorry to wake you up in the middle of night, I do hope I wasn't disturbing you?" He made it a question, but hurried on without waiting for Jethro to answer. "However, there simply was no other alternative." Ducky's voice was heavy with concern.

That was Ducky all the way; he rambled, even when apologizing. "Not a problem, Duck. And no, you weren't disturbing me," Jethro added, understand what his old friend was asking. "What's up? Is your mom sick?"

"No. And that is why I am calling; I would like her to remain that way."

"Huh?"

"Oh, I am sorry, my dear. Please forgive me; I am a little distracted. I – " Ducky's voice suddenly became more distant, but Jethro could still hear his friend's words. "Yes, Mother, just wait a moment. I'll be with you shortly."

"Duck, what's up?"

"The storm has taken out the electricity and we are without heating and mains lighting. For myself, that is not really a problem. I am able to keep warm and I have plenty of torches and candles. However, Mother is another matter entirely. With the cold weather we have been experiencing she needs to have the heating on in her room at nights, and I do not wish to leave the portable heaters we have on all night. It just wouldn't be a good idea in a confined space. Added to that, he idea of Mother wandering around the house in the dark with a candle or even a torch in her hand is just –" Ducky broke off and Jethro could hear him shudder. "Something I do not even wish to consider. Therefore, I was wondering if it would be at all possible, I know it's a dreadful imposition in more ways than one. And of course I would be more than happy to – What did you say, Jethro?"

"I asked if you wanted me to come and collect you and your mom, or if you were okay to drive over here," Jethro said, finally resorting to having to cut into the rambling speech. He didn't like to say it, but the idea of Ducky wandering his Reston house with only torch or candle light to light his way, didn't really appeal to him at all. Ducky might not be prepared to let it interfere with his life, but Jethro knew just how badly his long-ago injured leg affected him, and in particular his balance at times.

"Oh, my dear Jethro. Thank you so very much. That really is a relief to me to know that Mother will be warm and safe. The Corgis will be all right here, they tend to curl up together in the kitchen these days; they do not like the heating on all night. I could quite easily come back here after I've –"

"The hell you will."

"Jethro." Ducky sounded shocked and almost hurt.

Jethro shook his head. "What's up, Duck, got a problem spending the night at my house?"

"Of course not, my dear. I just did not want to impose any more than was strictly necessary."

"You're not. Okay? Okay?" he added, when Ducky didn't answer immediately.

Ducky chuckled softly. "Ah, Jethro. Very well," he said.

"Good. So do you want me to fetch you?"

"Oh, no. There is no need, thank you. I'll be – Mother, just wait a moment. Oh, Jethro, I really must go and attend to Mother. I shall see you in a little while."

"Sure, Duck. Just take –" But Jethro was talking to a silent phone.

He pushed back the covers and got out of bed. Poor Ducky, his manner on the phone had told Jethro exactly how worried and how upset his old friend was. He understood that, Mrs. Mallard was a worry at the best of times, but in the dark – He shook his head, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater, paid a quick visit to the bathroom to splash water on his hands and face and swill his mouth out, before going to find linen to make up the bed in the spare room.

Once he'd made the bed and turned the radiator up, he hurried downstairs to turn the heating back on. Once he'd done that, he unlocked the front door and went to check if he had any tea in his kitchen cupboards. He found an old battered box, with a handful of tea bags skulking at the bottom. He frowned at them; he had a vague idea that they'd been there since Stephanie had moved out. Oh, well . . . It couldn't be helped. It wasn't like he'd been expecting overnight guests, certainly not of the Mallard variety and pretty much not at all.

To his slight annoyance and chagrin, he found himself pacing up and down the hall once the amount of time it would take Ducky to pack two overnight bags and get himself and his mother into his Morgan and drive to Jethro's house had lapsed. He told himself he was being foolish to worry, Ducky was a grown man, some twelve years older than Jethro himself, he could more than take care of himself.

But knowing that was irrelevant. Jethro Gibbs rarely fussed and worried about people, it was yet another thing his ex-wives had all found objectionable, but when it came to Ducky, he did. He didn't really know why, he just had an almost over-whelming desire, need almost, to protect and look out for his oldest friend.

He shook his head and wondered about making himself a pot of coffee, pouring a shot of bourbon or – But at that moment the sound of the Morgan pulling up outside of his house filtered through the still crashing thunder.

He hurried to the door, pulled it open and looked out. The rain poured down; it was as if the sky was emptying itself. One quick glance told him that even with the short time it would take Ducky to get his mom from the car and into Jethro's house, they were both going to get very wet.

Ducky opened the driver's door and Jethro was about to call out to him to wait while he went and found the old golf umbrella that he knew still lurked in the basement. But he needn't have worried, because a large, black umbrella preceded Ducky from the car.

"Hang on, Duck," he called, hurrying out into the storm. "Here, let's get you inside. I'll come back for your mom." He took the umbrella from Ducky's hand.

"But, Jethro -"

"Inside, Duck," Jethro said forcefully, as he slipped his arm through Ducky's, and carefully but firmly began to move towards the front door, basically giving his friend no choice but to go with him.

Once Ducky was inside, Jethro went back to help Mrs. Mallard from the car. Once he'd helped her into the house, he went back out to grab the two bags that were on the backseat. 

By the time he got back into his house, he was, despite the umbrella very wet. He hadn't seen Mrs. Mallard for a few months, and in that short time her balance and speed of walking had deteriorated quite considerably. It had taken him so long to help her from the car, tuck her arm inside his and lead her very slowly to his house, that for a fleeting moment he'd even considered scooping her up and carrying her.

"Oh, Jethro," Ducky said, as they stood in the hallway. "You are very wet, you should have let me –"

Jethro ignored him, relocked the front door, and turned his attention to his other surprise guest. "Let me take your coat, Mrs. Mallard," he said.

"What? How dare you. Keep away, I tell you. I have a knife in my –"

"Mother. This is Jethro, remember? Jethro Gibbs. He's my friend and colleague."

She frowned, moved a little nearer to Jethro and peered up at him. For what seemed like an age, she stood appraising Jethro, studying him in the same way he'd seen Ducky and Abby study test results. Then she beamed, reached up to pat his cheek and said, "I know you. You're Jethro, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hmmm. What are you doing in my home at this time of night? Have you come to see Donald? Because if you have, I would ask that you make sure you are quiet when –"

"Mother!"

"Please do not shout at me, Donald. I am not deaf." She glared at her son, before turning back to Jethro. Then she looked around her. "This isn't my home," she said. "Donald, where are we? To where have you brought me? You are not going to put me into a home, are you? Because I refuse to –"

"Mrs. Mallard." Jethro caught the old woman's arm. "It's all right. Du – er, Donald has brought you to my house because there's been a power cut at your home, and he didn't want you to hurt yourself or get cold."

"A power cut?"

"Yes, Mother. The storm caused it."

"Oh. Very well then. You may show me to my room," she said, once more addressing Jethro. Her tone was her imperial one. 

Jethro hid a grin; he winked at Ducky whom he saw was shaking his head and looking concerned. "It's all right, Duck," he said softly as, pausing only long enough to scoop up both overnight bags, he offered his arm to Mrs. Mallard led her towards the stairs. "Come on, Mrs. Mallard, come upstairs with me." 

"Why, Jethro," she said, her tone coy, and she batted her eyelashes at him. "It has been a long time since a gentleman said that to me." She tucked her arm inside his and, her pace slightly less slow than it had been earlier, accompanied him up the stairs. 

Jethro smiled to himself as led the elderly woman up to bed. He heard Ducky groan softly to himself and murmur, "Oh, Mother," before he followed them. 

Jethro paused to show Mrs. Mallard where the bathroom was and then led her to the second bedroom. Inside his spare room, he left his companion at the door and hurried to switch the bedside lamp on. "Here we are, Mrs. Mallard," he said. "I hope you'll be comfortable."

"I'm sure I shall be, Jethro. Now you may take Donald away. But please, do make sure you play quietly, won't you? I do not wish to be disturbed." She smiled at Jethro and put her arm inside his again, and pulled on it. He bent his head towards her. "I didn't like to tell Donald, but that is one reason I insisted on my bedroom being moved downstairs. I didn't like him to think that I was listening to him. There are certain things a mother should not hear; just keep that in mind, Jethro."

"Oh, Mother," Jethro heard Ducky say softly again; his old friend sounded deeply distressed. He flashed Ducky, what he hoped was a 'don't worry' smile, before turning back to Mrs. Mallard.

"Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Mallard?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No thank you. You may now leave me." Then she frowned at him, pulled her arm away from his and demanded, "Who are you? And what are you doing in my bedroom? Tell me now or I'll –"

"It's all right, Mother." Ducky hurried across the room and put his arm around his mother. As he passed Jethro he glanced at him; his look told Jethro to leave them alone.

After a second or two's hesitation, Jethro did what his old friend insisted.

Uncertain how long it would be before Ducky quietened his mother, Jethro hovered between his own bedroom and the top of the stairs.

Ten minute passed before he heard Ducky say, "Goodnight, Mother. I hope you sleep well. Shall I leave a light on for you?"

"I am not a child, Donald. Now go to bed."

"Yes, Mother. Goodnight." Ducky came out of the room and closed the door behind him. He looked tired, and suddenly several years older than he normally looked. He sighed and turned to Jethro. "I am sorry, Jethro. Please do forgive Mother. Most of the time she doesn't know what she is saying."

"No worries, Duck." Jethro moved to Ducky and put his arm around Ducky's shoulders and hugged him. Beneath his embrace, Ducky felt tense. "I understand."

Ducky leaned into the embrace for a moment. "I am not entirely certain you do, my dear, indeed that you can. But thank you anyway. And now I must ask you one more imposition."

"Impose away, Duck."

"Would it very inconvenient for you if the landing light was left on? I know Mother said no, but if she gets up in the dark, then –"

"Not a problem, Duck. Really. We don't want her falling down the stairs and breaking anything, do we?"

He wasn't certain, in fact he was sure it was just his imagination, but he thought Ducky had hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment before saying, "No, we don’t. Thank you, Jethro, once again. And now, I shall say goodnight to you." He turned under Jethro's embrace.

With ease Jethro caught him. "Er, where you going, Duck?" he asked.

Ducky moved a little so that he could look up at Jethro. "Downstairs of course," he said.

Jethro blinked. "I did lock the front door, Duck."

Ducky frowned. "Yes, I know."

"Then . . .?"

"My dear?"

"The reason you're going downstairs is . . . ?"

"To sleep of course," Ducky said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Now Jethro frowned. "Duck, I don't have a bedroom downstairs, I'd have put your mom in it if I had done."

"I know that, Jethro," Ducky said, his tone similar to the one he occasionally used when talking to Palmer. "I am going to sleep on your sofa."

Jethro put both hands on Ducky's shoulders. "No, Duck. You're not." He spoke firmly, using his 'we're in the office and technically I'm your boss' tone.

"But –"

"Ducky. I may be a bastard in many things, but even I'm not going to let someone who has an injured leg sleep on my couch. Especially when that someone," he added quickly, as Ducky opened his mouth, no doubt to object, "is my closest friend. You either share my bed or I'll sleep on the damned couch. Do you really want to make me do that?" he added.

The pale blue eyes widened and Ducky looked askance as he gazed up at him. Then he chuckled softly and said, "That, Jethro Gibbs, is tantamount to blackmail."

"Yep," Jethro said. "Now," he let go of Ducky's shoulders and again put his arm around them. "Come on, let's go to bed." And before Ducky could say anything else, he firmly led his friend into his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

"Well?" he asked, after a moment or two of inactivity on Ducky's behalf had gone by. "You going to stand there all night? Or are you going to get undressed?" Before Ducky could answer him, Jethro unzipped the bag which, knowing to be Ducky's, he had brought into his bedroom, dug inside, pulled out Ducky's pajamas and tossed them across the room. "Here."

He waited until Ducky finally began to remove the sweater he had on, before pulling off his own sweater and sweatpants and climbing into bed in his undershirt and shorts. Although he'd seen Ducky naked before, had even shared a shower with him at some of their out-of-city cases, Jethro turned on his side away from Ducky, giving him some privacy. Something in his old friend's body language together with the distress he'd shown earlier at his mother's words, told him that's what Ducky would prefer.

He listened to the sounds of his friend undressing, and could visualize him carefully and neatly folding his clothes up and putting them on the chair that stood in the corner of Jethro's room. The bed dipped for a moment as Ducky sat down, no doubt to remove his trousers and shorts and put his pajama bottoms on. It then sprung back as Ducky stood up again. Jethro turned over, Ducky was moving towards the door. "Going somewhere?" he asked, his tone scarily nonchalant.

Ducky gave him a tired half-smile. "Only to the bathroom for a moment. If that meets with your approval, of course." The smile became wider.

Jethro smiled back. "Yeah. Reckon that'll be okay. Just make sure you come back."

"Yes, dear," Ducky said obliging, and slipped out of the room. 

A few minutes went by before the door opened and Ducky came back in; he was limping very badly. Once again Jethro felt the bed dip as Ducky sat down. "I'm sorry, my dear," Ducky said, as he carefully slid under the covers. "I'm behaving more than a little foolishly. It's been a stressful evening and Mother's words –"

"Are forgotten already," Jethro said firmly. "You ready for me to put the light out?"

"Yes, thank you." Ducky moved down the bed and settled himself comfortably. 

Jethro did just that. "Night, Duck," he said softly.

"Goodnight, my dear. I hope you sleep well. I'll try not to disturb you."

"You too, Duck."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jethro wasn't certain how long he'd been asleep for, but a quick glance at the clock told him less than half-an-hour had passed since he'd put the light out, when he awoke to find Ducky in his arms.

He smiled to himself, not perturbed in the slightest, but a little surprised that he didn't mind. As a rule when he shared a bed with one of his women, if he didn’t get up and leave pretty much as soon as they'd finished making love, he always avoided snuggling and cuddling. He liked to sleep alone, even if he shared a bed with someone. But rather than be annoyed by the fact that Ducky was in his arms, he felt contented, warmed, at peace, happy.

He shifted very slightly, so that his arm was more comfortable, and as he did, Ducky moved too, even nearer to him. As he did, Jethro realized that Ducky was partly aroused; the firm softness was pressed against his leg. He didn't move away, he didn’t feel the need, he just stayed where he was, holding the person who meant more to him that his own life, whom he cherished and cared for above all others. He just stayed where he was realizing how right it felt.

He was just about to drift back to sleep, when he felt Ducky start and wake up. At that second another flash of lightning split the sky and lit up the room, and Jethro easily saw the shook, self-horror and deep embarrassment on his friend's face as he tried to pull himself out of Jethro's arms. 

"Oh, Jethro," he said, the distress Jethro had heard earlier now tripled in intensity. "I am so very sorry. How can I ever expect you to forgive me? Please. I . . . Oh, Jethro. I . . . It's just that I am not used to sleeping with, that is sharing a bed with someone. It has been a while since I did so. And I . . . Jethro, please, let me go. I insist that I go downstairs and sleep on the sofa." Still he struggled.

But Jethro simply held on. Twelve years younger, six inches taller and quite a lot stronger than Ducky, gave him a big advantage. He held his friend effortlessly, ensuring the he did not escape from his arms or his bed. Part of him felt a bit of a heal for doing so, but most of him knew it was the right thing to do. 

The right thing for him.

The right thing for Ducky.

The right thing for them.

The right thing for their relationship – both current and future.

So instead of letting go, he gathered Ducky, without really appearing to do so, even closer to him and put his lips to Ducky's ear. He was pleased to feel the shudder of obvious pleasure, albeit quickly cut-off, as he nuzzled under the heavy, silky strands of Ducky's hair. "Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Duck. Do you?” Sensually he flicked his tongue around Ducky's ear, hearing his old friend moan. As he did, he slipped his hand down the bed, easily finding and holding the now full and hard erection. Gently, because instinct told him that was how Ducky liked it, he began to stroke, to caress Ducky's arousal. And as he did, he felt his own body begin to respond to the warm of the body, the man - Ducky, his lover - he held in his arms.

“What are you doing, Jethro?”

Jethro chuckled softly, as he continued his light, slow strokes, and his exploration of Ducky's ear. "Don't you know, Duck?" he murmured, again enjoying how Ducky shuddered and moaned. "I admit it's not how I'd thought about getting you into my bed and arms. But it will do.”

For a moment he thought Ducky had accepted what he so clearly wanted and he began to relax his hold just a little. Then Ducky said firmly, “Let me go, Jethro, please. Before I . . .” He trailed off. His actions belied his words, as he was no longer struggling to get away, but instead was pushing himself up into Jethro's grip. Jethro was certain it was instinctual, but whatever it was, he accepted it. Ducky's fingers also began to explore, stroke and caress the back of Jethro's neck – one of his most erogenous areas.

Again he put his lips to Ducky's ear and whispered, “Before you what? Come? Well, isn’t that what you want? You know you want this, Duck. You need this. You want me, don’t you? Tell me you don’t and I’ll stop." He paused and waited. 

He waited a little longer. 

And a second or two more. Before saying softly, "Thought not.” Then he took his lips away from Ducky's ear, maneuvered his lover a little and put his mouth to Ducky's. He was delighted that Ducky not only allowed the kiss, but also began to return it, as again he pushed himself into Jethro's arms and began to move under the caress. 

For several long moments they did nothing but kiss, nothing but let lips learn caress and make love to one another's, nothing but let mouths part and tongues tentatively explore the hitherto unknown parts. Then, when both broke away to gain some breath, Jethro said quietly, "Mind if I put the light on, Duck? I want to see you when I make love to you?" The hand that still held Ducky was already damp, and he could feel Ducky's naked, heated skin through the fly of the pajamas bottoms, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to see Ducky naked; he wanted to feel Ducky's skin pressed against his own naked body.

At the words 'make love' he'd felt another surge in Ducky's arousal, and Ducky had thrust even further into his hand. Jethro tightened his grip, his fingers moving to stop the climax; it was too soon. He didn't want Ducky coming until he'd had a chance to show him just how much he loved him, just how much he cared, just how much he wanted to, needed to, do this.

He was successful, and marveled at how quickly he'd learned Ducky's body. "Well?" he said softly, when Ducky didn't answer.

"I have no objections," Ducky said, moving his own hand and brushing it over Jethro's own hard, almost painful arousal.

Quickly, Jethro reached and put the light on, then he captured the wandering hand and held it firmly. "Later," he said. "You can have your turn later. For now, I'm going to show you, Dr. Mallard, just –" But Ducky pulled his head down and kissed him again.

A few minutes later Jethro broke the kiss and began to remove the clothing that was between them, pushing back the covers to reveal Ducky to him. Although he had seen his old friend naked, more than once, he was seeing him in a different light, with different eyes: the eyes of a lover. 

And he liked what he saw: he more than liked it. Ducky's skin was soft, virtually hair-free, apart from his groin, and blemish-free. In many ways his was the body of a much younger man, in other ways his age showed. And Jethro welcomed that, it reassured him, it spoke of tenderness and contentment, it spoke of a man who was comfortable with his body and with himself. 

He gazed down at the pale skin, letting his eyes travel up and down the length of it, drinking in the way Ducky's scent, already known to him, became stronger, more intense, how it infiltrated his senses, how it wrapped itself around him and drew him in. The scent of Ducky's arousal was new to him, but even then he could identify the scents he had lived with for thirty-two years. Under the pleasant male arousal, he could taste and smell the piquant odors of woodland, Formaldehyde, and the sea, and wrapped around those was the more gentle scent of what he thought was jasmine. 

He paused his caressing of Ducky's arousal, stopped and felt the slow, steady throb under his hand, felt the slight stickiness on his fingers and moved them together. Slowly then he moved his hand away completely, hushing Ducky's whimper of disapproval and instead, with lips and hands began to explore the rest of Duchy's body.

He kissed his way from Ducky's mouth, under his chin and onto his neck, there he didn't just kiss, he licked, and nibbled and sucked. Not hard enough to mark, not even given Ducky's paleness, at least he thought it wasn't hard enough, but enough to know that Ducky more than liked what he was doing.

"Oh, Jethro, yes. Oh, please. Oooh," his lover murmured, pushing his head back further into the pillow to allow Jethro more access to his neck. "Mmmmm."

Reluctantly moving his mouth away from Ducky's neck, Jethro began to kiss and lick his chest, while his free hand, Ducky was again lying on his other arm, began to touch, caress and stroke the rest of Ducky's chest and stomach. It moved on to flirt with Ducky's thigh, pausing only for a second for him to feather his fingers over his lover's hardness.

Apart from a few soft noises and the murmuring from time to time of his name, Ducky was silent. That suited Jethro; he never had seen the need for chattering during lovemaking, there were far better ways to communicate at such a time than verbally.

He stroked and touched Ducky's thighs, taking care not to press too firmly on his friend's damaged leg, making circles with his fingertips and moving his hands around to caress, to touch, the underside and inside of Ducky's legs. 

As he stroked, his mouth and lips continued to kiss, suck and make love to other parts of Ducky's body before returning to the mouth he was already obsessed with. He slipped his tongue inside Ducky's mouth again and enjoyed the way Ducky sucked it.

Ducky had obeyed his 'later' with the exception of stroking Jethro's back, caressing the nape of his neck, and kissing him back with the kind of passion that made Jethro groan silently and demand more.

Finally, Jethro returned his hand to Ducky's arousal. "How?" he murmured gently, not troubled in the least by the enquiry. He wanted to know exactly how, not just guess, assume. He wanted to make this good; he wanted it to be right; he wanted to give Ducky more pleasure, more joy, more satisfaction than he'd ever before experienced. 

The very faint tinge of surprise that he felt Ducky's body exhibit, as he asked the question, for a split second saddened Jethro. Had no one cared enough to ask before? He moved his mouth back to cover Ducky's and for several minutes kissed him, thus silencing him.

When he released his mouth, Ducky said quietly, "Slow and gentle, very much as you were doing it before, but –" He broke off.

"But what, Duck?"

"Could you move your hand in the opposite way?"

"I can do anything you want me too, Duck," Jethro said, adjusting his grip and direction. "Anything," he repeated.

"Ahh." This time Ducky's cry was slightly louder than before. As he again covered Ducky's mouth to smoother the sound, Jethro felt a wave of pleasure and even a hint of smugness.

He continued to stroke Ducky, gently, slowly, down and up, just as Ducky wanted. As he did, Ducky moved under the touch, one moment pushing up into the grip, another just swaying against the mattress; his pleasure, even to the man who had never bedded him before was obvious. 

Then suddenly Ducky covered Jethro's hand with him own, gripping him tightly, holding him pressed hard against him as he breathed quickly and fought against his completion. 

After a minute or two he sighed and let go of Jethro's hand and once more settled back into the bed; again Jethro was touched, moved, immensely so, by how at ease Ducky had been. How much he'd seemed to pick up on the fact that Jethro wanted to give him the maximum amount of pleasure he possibly could.

But then as he continued to stroke Ducky, moving his hand a little more quickly, something hit Jethro. He paused just for a second, still holding Ducky, and said gently, "It's not a one off, Duck. You don't have to drag it out if you don't want to."

Ducky gave a half sob and thrust up into Jethro's grip. As the climax hit him, he sighed, "I love you, Jethro my dearest. I love you."

He held Ducky, enjoying the feel of warm, sticky liquid filling his hand, the way Ducky's eyes glistened in the lamplight, the way his entire body climaxed. "Love you too, Duck," he whispered, and smiled as a little more liquid seeped into his hand.

He continued to hold Ducky, in a one armed embrace, lightly kissing his lips, his cheeks, his damp forehead, his eyelids, as the final shudder of the climax passed though Ducky's softening arousal and his body. 

As he began to take his hand away, Ducky again covered it with his own. "Please," he whispered.

"Please what, Duck?"

"Hold me for a little longer. I . . . I like it. Very much," he added, his tone tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

Jethro kissed him gently, and again let his fingers close around Ducky. "This okay?" he asked.

Ducky just nodded.

"Good." He smiled down as the heavy lashes, covering the, what had become, onyx ringed sapphire blue eyes, fluttered down. Ducky's cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly parted, showing just a hint of his white teeth. 

Still holding him, Jethro stayed propped up on one arm, gazing down at the man he loved beyond reason. The man who he had ever intention of loving for the rest of their lives, and beyond. The man to whom he would be faithful; because to be anything else would be more than wrong. "Love you, Duck," he murmured softly. And smiled to himself at Ducky's less than coherent response.

He stayed where he was just watching Ducky who seemed to have slipped into a light sleep. His own arousal was demanding, but not overly so, and for the first time in his adult life, his own need didn't matter to him. He shifted very slightly and, without meaning to, hissed between his teeth as the sensitive tip brushed the sheet.

It was enough to disturb his dozing lover. Ducky's eyes opened slowly and he blinked up at Jethro, a soft, loving smile on his lips. "Jethro," he said softly, and lifted his hand to cup Jethro's cheek. He smiled again and sighed happily, "I'm not dreaming after all, my dear, am I?"

Jethro smiled down and shook his head. "No, Duck. It's real." Again he smiled as the long eyelashes fluttered closed. 

Then they opened again and Ducky moved his hand. "So is this," he said, lightly touching Jethro's now suddenly fully interested erection. "Very real," he said making his strokes less light, as he slipped his hand around Jethro and gripped him. "How?" he asked softly.

Jethro gritted his teeth and opted not to say that it didn't matter, he had gotten so close to the edge when Ducky had climaxed that it wouldn't matter who touched him or how, he was seconds away from falling over the edge anyway. "Bit harder and faster than you like it," he said, gasping as with two strokes Ducky found his ideal pressure. "Duck," he moaned softly, seconds later. "I'm –"

His body completed the sentence and he slumped down on the bed next to Ducky and simply surrendered himself to the sheer pleasure and beauty of the moment. He let his eyes close for a few seconds and instead used his other senses as he lay next to Ducky, still touching him, still holding him, Ducky's fingers still flirting with his naked body.

When he opened his eyes he gazed at Ducky who looked extremely smug with himself. Jethro smiled and laughed gently. He kissed Ducky's nose and mouth lightly, without passion, simply with love. "Do I look as smug as I feel?" he asked.

Ducky beamed. "Oh, yes, dearest," he said. "At least as much."

For a moment or two they just remained there, holding caressing, touching, lightly kissing. Until once again Ducky's eyes began to close. "Go to sleep, Duck." Jethro murmured the gentle order. "It'll still be real in the morning." He kissed Ducky one more time before feeling for the lamp and turning it off.

Out of the darkness Ducky's sleep-heavy voice suddenly asked, "Jethro, did you say that you had imagined getting me into your bed and arms?"

"Yeah. I did, Duck. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, dear." Or at least that's what Jethro thought he heard Ducky say, as his lover snuggled a little nearer to him and in scant seconds became a heavy, fully relaxed weight in his embrace.

He smiled to himself, nuzzled Ducky's hair and closed his eyes, letting the scent from the clean, fresh, heavy silkiness mingle with the other scents emanating from the bed, lull him into sleep.

And with the sound of storm becoming more distant, he let himself fall over the edge into the world of sleep. As he did, he made a mental note to ask Ducky exactly how long ‘some time’ was.


End file.
